


Magic Left Somewhere Inside Our Souls

by kopperblaze



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: AU, Beauty and the Beast AU, Creatures, Curses, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, alternative universe, grumpy!percival, newt has no sense of self-preservation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:03:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopperblaze/pseuds/kopperblaze
Summary: “Would you care for a cup of tea? I have a few questions I’d really like to ask you.”The beast snarled and stalked away, each heavy step like a clap of angry thunder.“Guess that was a no,” Newt mumbled and slid down against the wall to sit on the cold stone floor of his cell with a sigh.Or: Beauty and the Beast!AU, the Newt Scamander edition. Because Newt's never been scared of beasts.





	1. Prologue

In a distant memory Percival remembered his life not being bleak and dreary. He thought that once his days were filled with light and laughter instead of dust and silence. The memories of these days seemed far away, faded in his mind like paintings bleached from the sun, and some days Percival questioned if they were real at all. It was hard to believe that once upon a time the halls of his castle had been filled with people, the music swelling in the ballroom as couples laughed and danced the night away.

These days the rooms lay in ruin, a thick layer of dust having stolen the glow of the gold and dulled all the colours down to a murky grey. There was nothing but silence in the halls, and the nights seemed to last a lifetime.

Nothing ever broke the monotony of Percival’s empty days. The hours stretched endlessly before him with little to fill them, and with each passing day, Percival sank deeper into the darkness of his mind. He expected it to swallow him completely any day now.

And then, on a day like any other, Percival’s dreary routine was broken by a redheaded man stumbling into his castle and stealing one of his roses. As if that wasn’t enough, a day after he’d thrown the thief into one of the castle’s cells, another man with flaming red hair arrived.

If Percival had known the headaches this man was going to cause him, he’d have sent both of them away and gone back to bed.

***

“Zeus, what did you _do_?” Newt hissed as he sank to his knees in front of the cell. The ground beneath his feet was cold and damp and Newt wrinkled his nose. The castle had definitely seen better days.It looked abandoned, grime and dust and cobwebs everywhere, but it didn’t _feel_ abandoned. Whispers carried through the air, and Newt could swear he’d seen the candelabra in the entrance hall move. Besides, Theseus would’ve hardly locked himself up.

“Merlin’s sake, Newt, what are you doing here?” Theseus hissed right back, his fingers wrapped around the damp bars of his prison cell. His gaze darted around nervously, searching the darkness behind Newt. “You need to _leave_.”

“In a moment,” said Newt and held out his arm so Pickett could inspect the cell’s lock. “Can you open it?”

The bowtruckle puffed up as if Newt had greatly insulted him and stuck out his tongue before getting to work.

“I’m serious, Newt. You need to leave. _Now._ Before he locks you up as well.” Theseus’ spoke quickly, his gaze boring into Newt.

“Pickett will have the lock open in just a moment and then we can leave toge-“ The cell door swung open with a rusty creak and Pickett jumped back onto Newt’s arm, brushing dust off his arms and looking up at Newt with his lips pursed. “You did very well, Pickett,” Newt smiled and the bowtruckle preened under the praise.

Pulling the door the rest of the way open Newt looked expectantly at Theseus. “C’mon, let’s g-“

“What is the meaning of this?!” A barking voice echoed off the walls and pressed in on Newt from all sides. The ground vibrated as something rather large landed behind him and Newt watched as his brother’s eyes grew wide. Pickett’s leaves tickled the side of Newt’s neck as the bowtruckle scrambled to disappear into the pocket of his shirt.

“Are you trying to escape, thief?” The voice drew out the last consonant into a hiss and Theseus bristled and stood up taller.

“I’m not a thief! I merely picked a rose!”

“Which you had no permission to do!”

Newt quirked and eyebrow and slowly turned around, as to not startle whoever was behind him. All of this was about a _rose?_

“I’m afraid that’s all my fault,” Newt said as he tried to make something out in the dark. In the flickering candlelight he only saw a large, dark shape in the doorway. He would’ve thought it an exceptionally bulky man, if not for the horns gleaming in the light.

“Is that so?”

The deep voice seemed to reverberate in Newt’s chest and he swallowed and fought to keep his spine straight and his head held high. “Yes. You see, roses are Pickett’s favourite food, so I asked Theseus to bring me one when he returned from the market.”

The man –or the creature? Newt squinted harder, still not entirely sure– snorted. “My roses are no food.”

“Well, yes. I assume there was no formal warning in the garden not to pick any flowers though, so my brother couldn’t have known. And we’re really sorry and I assure you that it won’t happen again. If you just let us leave, we’ll be out of your hair in a jiffy.”

“You think your brother’s misdeed will so easily be forgotten? That you can come here and take whatever you please and then leave?”

“I might’ve taken some silver spoons as well,” Theseus whispered from behind Newt. “And a few other trinkets.”

It felt like a physical strain to keep from rolling his eyes. Theseus was incorrigible. “I do apologise for my brother.”

“I don’t care for apologies. One of you stays here.”

“Would you come into the light? It’s rather disconcerting, speaking to a shadow.” Part of Newt was stalling for time, while another part of him was genuinely curious. The owner of the castle gave a low growl before he stepped forward. He looked like a wampus standing on its hind legs, and the torches on the wall revealed a hairy face, a broad, flat nose and lips curled back into a snarl that showed sharp teeth. Most astounding though were the creature’s eyes. They were almost ill-fitting on its face, brown and intelligent and very _human._

Newt couldn’t contain his excitement and took a step forward, which made the creature falter and its snarl fall.

“Oh, oh that’s _fascinating.”_ Forgetting all about their current predicament Newt studied the creatures torn clothes. It wore trousers, a shirt and a waistcoat, and what might once have been a cloak. All the garments were ill-cared for but clearly made of expensive materials. Newt had studied a lot of creatures in his time –which had contributed to his reputation as ‘peculiar’ among the villagers– but he’d never once encountered a beast that dressed and spoke like a human.

“What are you?” Newt asked as his fingers twitched to reach out and touch the matted black and grey fur, wondering if it would feel coarse or smooth under his hands. “Was your mother a wampus? Or your father?”

The creatures snarl morphed into an open-mouthed look of surprise. Brown eyes widened and stared at Newt, the flames reflected in the dark pupils. Then, in the span of a second, the moment snapped and the creature narrowed its eyes, emitting another growl. “How dare you!”

“Newt. Shit, Newt.” Theseus grabbed Newt’s arm and tried to pull him back, but Newt didn’t feel afraid. He’d been snarled at by plenty of beasts before.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your parents, of course.” He did a little bow to show just how sorry he was, before he turned around to face his brother. “I’ll stay.”

“Newt, no-“

“I’ll stay,” Newt repeated, more insistent. He would march Theseus out of the castle himself if he had to, because Newt wasn’t going to give up the opportunity to study this creature. “Go.”

Theseus pressed his lips together and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “No. I’ll not leave you here with Merlin knows what and-“

“Enough!” The beast roared. “If one of you isn’t back in the cell within the minute I’ll lock both of you up!”

For a second Theseus looked like he was about to suggest that this was a splendid idea, but before he could voice any such thoughts Newt stepped into the cell and closed the door, locking himself in. His brother’s crestfallen look made him feel a little bit bad about it, and he might’ve acted a little rash, but Newt had never been one to pass up on an opportunity that presented itself.

“I’ll find a way out, don’t worry, Zeus,” he said, low enough only for his brother to hear. After all Newt had Pickett, so it would be difficult to keep him locked up anywhere. Once he’d completed his studies he’d return to the village. Or maybe, once they got to know each other better, he could reason with the creature.

“Newt.” With a sigh Theseus stepped up to the cell and reached inside, taking Newt’s hand. His palm was cold and a little clammy. “I’ll go prematurely grey because of you.”

“No you won’t.” Newt squeezed his brother’s hand.

Theseus rolled his eyes and smiled, but the skin around his eyes was tight. “ _Please_ , be careful. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Write me! If I don’t get a letter from you once a week I’ll come marching back here.”

“Are you quite done?” The creatures tone was mockingly calm, but there was a dangerous edge underneath it. The brothers shared another look before Theseus took a step back. His throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed.

“Be careful, Newt.”

Newt nodded, hiding the spark of nervousness that had ignited in his stomach now that his initial excitement had worn off a little. There was no point in worrying now, though. What was done was done and in the end better him than Theseus.

“You too.”

Another impatient growl from the beast had Theseus darting a nervous gaze to the side before he directed a final, lingering look at Newt. “I’ll see you soon,” he mouthed. It took him visible effort to turn around and walk down the stairs, his steps slow and dragging. Newt watched his brother’s back disappear, the echo of his boots on the stone floor growing faint. When silence had fallen again Newt looked back at the beast.

“Would you care for a cup of tea? I have a few questions I’d really like to ask you.”

The beast snarled and turned around, stalking away, each heavy step like a clap of angry thunder.

“Guess that was a no,” Newt mumbled and slid down against the wall to sit on the cold stone floor with a sigh. As exciting as this opportunity was, his new quarters left a lot to be desired.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still absolutely floored by the amount of feedback the prologue got. Thank you guys so so much! You've made me super happy (and at the same time super nervous, hoping I can live up to expectations with the rest of this story) 
> 
> Sorry if I confused some of you with an earlier version of chapter one. I deleted it because I really didn't like it. Still not 100% satisfied with this, but writer's block is more annoying than a drunk deatheater /o\

* * *

Avoidance was a tactic that had worked well for Percival in the past, so avoidance was how he decided to deal with his prisoner. Though the man was hardly a prisoner anymore, considering the fact that Percival’s household were a bunch of traitors, who’d released the man from his cell and set him up with a cosy room in the East Wing. 

Unfortunately for Percival, rather than understanding, his indigence it was met with blank stares (Seraphina), rolled eyes (Tina), and lectures about hospitality and the possibility of this Newt -what kind of name was that anyway?- being The One (Jacob and Queenie respectively and together). He ought to fire his staff for treason, really, except for how he was rather fond of them in his brighter moments. 

“They’re just excited to have a visitor,” Credence said as Percival took a sip of tea to calm his frazzled nerves before the rest of his fur turned grey. Not that he had much pride in appearances left at this point. 

“He’s not a visitor, he’s a prisoner.” 

"He didn’t really do anything though, did he?”

“His brother tried to steal Jean-Pierre.” 

“Well.” Credence drew the word out. He always did that when he wasn’t sure if he should voice his opinion or not, still shy and terrified of the consequences of speaking out, even after years in Percival’s household. “You don’t really like Jean-Pierre, do you?” 

“No,” Percival huffed, the mere thought of Jean-Pierre making him feel annoyed. “He talks way too much, especially for a spoon.” Maybe Jean-Pierre was part of the reason why Percival didn’t bother with cutlery anymore. One too many comments about his clumsy paws and sharp claws had ensured Jean-Pierre’s banishment to the kitchen drawers forever. If only he’d stay there, rather than haunting Percival’s existence and blabbering on and on and ON about the perceived misdeeds of the other servants and the ways in which Percival should punish them. Not to mention his penchant for recounting all of Percival’s failures and shortcomings in chronological order, starting with the fact that when Percival was one he’d thrown his food up while the Princess of Lafayette had been over for dinner. 

“So if you’d have let the man take Jean-Pierre…” Credence trailed off and Percival sighed, imagining for one glorious moment what it’d have been like, to be finally free of the overbearing servant. 

“I know, trust me I contemplated it. But the fact is that he’s part of this castle and probably would’ve died had he crossed the border of the property. Not to mention it’s plain bad manners to enter someone else’s home and just take whatever you want.” 

Credence nodded, his lips twisted in contemplation. Percival stayed silent, giving the boy time to gather his thoughts.

“Newt has very good manners.” Credence’s painted eyes widened as he looked up at Percival. “He didn’t want to drink from me because he said that’d feel awkward.” 

Years of experience enabled Percival to read between the lines and he gently traced a sharp claw over the black flowers painted on Credence’s sides. “You’re a very good cup, I’m sure the man simply isn’t used to talking crockery.” 

He pushed up to his feet and walked over to the large window overlooking the gardens, covered in blindingly-white snow, Credence perched on a saucer held carefully in his paw. “What has become normal to us is very unsettling for the rest of the world, I’m afraid.” 

Sometimes Percival was afraid that he’d forget what his life had been like before, when the gardens had awakened in spring and bloomed in bright colours, and when he’d been something more than the hideous creature he was now. The memories of those times felt far away and faded, like paintings bleached from the sun. 

“Mh.” Credence clattered against the saucer as he tipped back a little. “Is it true that your mother was a wampus? Queenie said she had the temper of one.” 

Percival huffed but couldn’t find it in himself to be angry, a sense of wistfulness overtaking him instead. His mother had been a difficult woman, but he still missed her. 

***

Avoiding Newt turned out more difficult than Percival anticipated. The man was _everywhere_. He was there when Percival went for a walk in the gardens, and he always happened to round a corner and bump into Percival when he walked down a corridor. He was in the dining room and in the kitchens and in the ballroom. 

Most upsetting of all, he seemed to be taking _notes_ on Percival’s behaviour, glancing at him before furiously scribbling in the little book he carried around. It made Percival’s blood boil, and he could feel his right temple throbbing. 

“Good afternoon!” 

Newt was also disgustingly cheerful. Percival sneered in reply to make it clear that _he_ didn’t share this cheerful disposition. Like all the times before, Newt remained thoroughly unimpressed, smiling widely at Percival and falling into step beside him as if Percival had invited him along. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Out.” Percival stared straight ahead, unwilling to give the man the impression that he was engaging him. 

“For a walk? Would you mind if I accompanied you?” 

Percival’s paws curled, his sharp nails digging into his palms. “Yes, I would.” 

“Great I’ve-“ Newt trailed off as Percival’s reply sunk in, deviating from what common curtesy dictated. At least flustering Newt was a fun way to spend his time; Percival had to get something in return for his peace having been stolen by an awkward stalker. 

“Oh. Well, I didn’t…I just thought…” 

“What?” Percival stopped and took satisfaction in the way Newt stumbled. “You thought what?” Although these days Percival was more likely to hunch, like he could hide his repulsiveness if he curled into himself, he pushed himself up to his full height now, towering over Newt. Instead of shrinking back against the wall Newt tilted his face back, his blue eyes studying Percival. 

“You thought we’d take a nice little walk together?” Percival’s voice grated in his throat like sand and he took a step closer, intending to crowd Newt against the wall. The man was infuriating in his refusal to fear Percival, his treatment of him as if they were _friends_ and Percival was _normal_. Percival hadn’t been normal in years, reminded of it again and again by the unfortunate people who lost their way and found the castle, and the wizard who came to gloat and taunt him on the day of his birth each year. He was reminded of it by his servants, stuck as crockery and pretending to be unaffected and upbeat around him when behind closed doors they were starting to despair as well; Percival wasn’t stupid, and he was capable of moving more quietly than they suspected. He was reminded by his reflection, by the way his paws refused to hold things like his human hands had, and the itching of his fur all over his body. The feeling and the warmth of human skin were lost to Percival. When he got wet he stank like a dog who’d been caught in the rain. 

No, Percival hadn’t been normal in years, and he certainly wasn’t Newt’s friends. Somehow Newt hadn’t gotten the message, but Percival was about to make it crystal clear to him. 

“That you could ask me things and write them down in that little book of yours?” He plucked the notebook from Newt’s limp grasp, his claws scratching the front cover. “That’d we’d have tea together and a good old chat?” 

Finally nervousness stole onto Newt’s face, making his lips flicker and the corners of his eyes tighten as he averted his gaze. 

“Is that what you thought?” Percival hated showing off the shards in his mouth posing as teeth, but he did now as he gave Newt a mocking grin. “Let me make something very clear to you. I’m _not_ your friend and just because you’re not rotting away in a cell doesn’t mean you’re not my prisoner anymore. Stop pushing me or I’ll lock you away in a dungeon where no one will find you.” 

He watched Newt’s adam’s apple bob as the man swallowed. 

"Stop.following.me. Is that understood?” 

Newt’s throat clicked and he gave a jerky nod. Percival glowered at him a moment longer for good measure before he turned on his paws and strode away, the little notebook clutched in his paw. 

***

To say that Sebastian –as Newt had started calling the beast since he couldn’t very well keep calling him “beast” and the servants, lovely and helpful as they were, absolutely refused to tell him their master’s name– was grumpy would be an understatement. Newt had been at the castle for almost a week and he had yet to observe the creature in a state that wasn’t brooding and grouchy. 

And now Sebastian had stolen Newt’s notebook with all his sketches and observations! Not just about him, but about all manners of other creatures that Newt had observed in the village and the forest surrounding it. Months worth of research were _gone_ , since Newt doubted Sebastian would give the book back. He’d burnt or torn it apart by now, most likely. 

Newt sighed, now in a rather foul mood himself. The castle felt lonely and desolate, its magic having turned to dust that left a bitter taste in Newt’s mouth. He was a prisoner here, as much as he’d forgotten the fact. Sebastian was…fascinating, but not what Newt had expected, and he started to doubt that he’d ever get any closer to the creature. 

“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” Jacob the candelabra asked when Newt wandered into the ballroom. Light flooded in through the large windows and Newt could see dust particles floating in the air, almost looking like they were dancing to the tune the piano idly played. Jacob stood on the tea trolley next to Queenie, the teapot. She wasn’t quite as bossy as her sister Tina, a clock, but her wide smile instilled a want in every living being to make her happy. Newt thought that had Queenie been a woman she would’ve been stunning, that smile a weapon to rule the world. 

“Your master.” Newt couldn’t help but sigh again, wandering over to the large windows and looking out at the sprawling gardens, covered in a thick layer of snow. What had seemed like a wonderland before now appeared cold and dead.

“Ah.” Queenie and Jacob shared a look as the trolley rolled over and came to a halt next to Newt. “Don’t worry too much about him, honey. He’ll calm down soon enough,” Queenie said, a puff of smoke rising from her spout. “Tea?” 

“No, thank you.” Not even a cup of tea could help him now, which was saying something. 

“Oh darling.” Queenie hopped forward to the edge of the trolley and peered up at Newt with worried eyes, the corners of her lips twisting downward. “The master can be a right grouch, but I bet he feels bad about it by now.” 

Newt sincerely doubted that. Sebastian had been _angry_. Newt wasn’t one to scare easily, he’d dealt with many a snarling beast in his day, wolves and nundus and hippogriffs. But Sebastian…Sebastian was different to anyone Newt had ever encountered. It hadn’t been his snarling or the fact that he could easily crush Newt with one paw that had made his stomach tighten with anxiety, no. It had been Sebastian's eyes; they were so very human, and had been filled with a wild sort of despair and hurt that Newt couldn’t even begin to understand or even attempt to describe. It had been jarring and deeply unsettling and the more he thought about it the more Newt figured that in reality he wasn’t angry with Sebastian for stealing his notes; he was angry because he felt helpless and useless. 

“You need a distraction. How about a nice dinner?” Jacob suggested with a cheerful smile. Since day one he’d taken great satisfaction in having the kitchens prepare a staggering amount of food for Newt, more than he could ever hope to eat. The other side of the dining room table, although set with plates and cutlery, always remained empty. 

“Thank you, Jacob, but I’m afraid I’m not very hungry at all,” Newt said, his gaze drifting back to the gardens. “I think I’ll take a walk.” Some fresh air and a change of scenery might help clear his head, so he could look at things from a different perspective and come up with a new plan. 

“Sure, honey. I’ll have some tea ready for you when you come back,” Queenie said. “Don’t stay out too long, it’ll be dark soon.” 

“And some scones,” Jacob added with a smile. “The gardens are nice, there is a maze that I’m sure is interesting even in the snow. Stay away from the forest though, all manners of creatures live there.” 

Next to Jacob, Queenie shuddered. “Oh yes. I was once chased by a wild diricrawl in there!” 

Newt frowned. How could teapots be chased by diricrawls? It almost sounded like once upon a time Queenie had been something or someone else. It was yet another strange fact to add to his ever-growing list of strange facts about the castle and its inhabitants. There was something more to all of this, and Newt felt like the riddle’s solution was floating just out of reach. He’d get to it sooner or later. After all, he had time. 

***

The air outside was cold and fresh, stinging in Newt’s lungs on the first few breaths. Pickett gave a disgruntled noise and burrowed into the pocket of Newt’s coat, but not before glaring at him. 

“I asked you if you wanted to stay inside.” Newt reminded him. He’d never been one to indulge in bad moods for too long, and being outside, a forest full of beasts within his reach, Newt already felt considerably better. The snow crunched beneath his boots and around Newt the world was silent. It was almost eery, like the entire world had fallen into a deep sleep beneath the snowy blanket. In the distance the forest loomed, an imposing dark mass against the grey sky. It didn’t look inviting like the forest at home with its lush green bushes and the sunlight filtering through the branches of the tall trees, the hum of bees and the chirping of birds in the air. Yet it did not deter Newt and he continued on his way, Jacob’s warning long forgotten; not that it had ever sounded like a warning to Newt. The possibility of discovering new beasts had excited him rather than scared him. 

And so he entered the darkness of the forest with a bounce to his steps, the crunch of snow giving way to hard earth and piles of pine needles. As opposed to the gardens the forest wasn’t quiet; branches were cracking and every once in a while there’d be a shuffling sound, like something had detected Newt’s presence and was scuttling away. 

Strange flowers grew along the path, shining bright in the darkness like they were lit from within. Newt wished he had his notebook with him to document them, but in the absence of it he studied them closely and plucked a few of them to examine them closer back at the castle. Maybe Jacob could get him some pen and paper. 

In the dim light bugs came to life, their bodies twinkling just like the flowers they settled on. It was _fascinating_ and Newt wondered if the contact with the flowers was what made the bugs shine. He sat on the ground, not minding that his legs and butt were starting to feel rather frozen, all his attention focused on the spectacle before him. The bugs were drifting lazily through the air, twinkling like stars in the darkness. 

The darkness? Newt jerked his head back and looked up. He could barely make out the treetops against the dark sky, the only light coming from the heavy moon hanging in the sky. HIs stomach twisted uncomfortably and Newt struggled to his feet, ignoring the way his heartbeat picked up. There was nothing to worry about at all. He’d merely lost track of time and would go back to the castle now. Simple as that. 

Newt turned back towards the path he’d come from and started to walk quickly, stumbling over roots in the ground repeatedly as the darkness around him grew thicker. The creaking and cracking noises around him sounded different now, ominous and unsettling. Newt had always hated the darkness; not seeing what was in front of you was terrifying, much more horrible than glimpsing danger approaching you and being able to prepare. 

When the first howl broke through the night Newt was sure his heart skipped a painful beat. His steps picked up as he fought his way through the thick darkness, firmly telling himself that the sound had been far away. He’d barely taken five more steps when a second and a third howl joined the first one, sounding much closer this time. 

“Darn.” Newt whispered and broke into a run. The branches of the trees grew more sparse as he neared the edge of the forest, the moonlight falling through the gaps and illuminating the path. 

He’d almost made it out of the forest, his heart leaping with the beginnings of relief, when a dark shape jumped out from the trees and stood in his way. A low growl vibrated in the air and in the light sharp teeth flashed. Newt jerked to a halt and his eyes widened as he tried to work out what kind of creature it was. In the end the full moon hanging low in the sky behind the shadow was what tipped him off, just as another howl sounded close behind him. 

Fuck. He really was in trouble. 

***

“Your brooding is giving me a headache.” 

Percival looked up from the notebook he’d been pouring over for the better part of the afternoon, and glared at Seraphina. Of course it had no effect at all –it never had. She merely floated from her perch on his bed’s canopy down to the table, elegant as you please. 

It was entirely unfair that even as a feather duster she was striking, resembling an exotic bird with her shimmering dark feathers that flowed into a graceful body carved out of onyx, her wings dark and strong and laced with gold. Her beak and eyes were gold as well, and the feathers atop of her head shimmered like jewels whenever she moved. She looked exquisite and Percival felt a stray dog in comparison, more so today than ever. He felt retched, absolutely retched. He had braced himself to read about his horrible nature in Newt’s notebook, to find his looks and habits listed in gruesome details, revealing him for the monster he was.

Instead the man’s notes made him sound almost…fascinating.

_Long, shiny fur. Texture unknown as yet. Moves rather graceful considering his size, but capable of heavy stomping when angry._

_Appears grumpy but all servants speak well of him. Observed him with Queenie today and he seemed unguarded and very kind. Especially protective of Credence?_

_Definitely some features of a wampus, but haven’t managed to identify the horns as of yet. Dragon-related, maybe?_

_Well-mannered for a creature, there’s always a second place set at dining room table so suppose in general he does eat there. Almost human like behaviour, vocabulary and manner of speech very educated._

That in particular had made Percival’s breath stutter in his chest. Was there something human-like left in him after all, something that Newt recognised?

“Find anything interesting in there?” Seraphina asked, beating her wings and settling on Percival’s shoulder. She peered at the notebook but he slapped it closed quickly. It was stupid, the notes hadn’t been intended for his eyes either after all, but Newt’s writing and observations felt private.

“Maybe.” He shrugged and Seraphina snorted.

“You’re really too harsh on the kid.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You never do, and yet I always give it.”

Which was true. Percival and Seraphina had grown up together and once he’d taken over for his father she’d become his most valued advisor. She knew him better than anyone, capable of reading him even when he remained a mystery to everyone else.

Percival exhaled in a loud sigh. “He’s grating on my nerves.”

“Of course he is,” Seraphina said easily. “He’s not behaving like you expect him to and that’s something you’ve never been able to handle. People behaving outside your expectations.”

It was true, though Percival would never admit it to her face. Seraphina’s ego was big enough as it was.

“Why isn’t he scared of me? He treats me like he…wants to know me. Like I’m…fascinating or something.”

“Have you ever considered the fact that maybe he does want to get to know you? You always see the worst in people, Percival. It’s not a good habit.”

Percival huffed. How was he supposed to believe in the good in people or some bullshit when another person had cursed him to this existence and all the others before Newt had had nothing but disgust and fear for him, trying to kill him or running away from him before he had said a word?

“Maybe for once you should put aside your stubborn pride and make an effort. Have a talk with him.”

“Mh. Maybe.” Percival ran a claw down the front of the notebook. It had contained a lot more notes in the front, detailing flowers and the wildlife around the village where Newt lived. Percival had found himself unwillingly interested. Maybe tomorrow he’d give the notebook back and attempt to have a civil conversation with Newt. If that didn’t go well he could always lock the man up again.

The door to his rooms banging open jerked Percival from his thoughts. The tea trolley came cluttering in, a distressed Queenie hopping atop of it.

“He hasn’t come back!”

“What? Who?”

“Newt.” Queenie looked close to tears as the trolley came to a stop on front of Percival, her spout puffing steam. “He went out for a walk, but it’s been three hours and he hasn’t come back!”

Percival glanced out of the window, at the heavy moon in the sky and the inky darkness around it, and back at Queenie, who looked unhappier than he’d ever seen her. It wasn’t a look that suited her smiling face.

With a sigh Percival stood up, all his annoyance at the man rushing right back. He should leave him out there to either find his own way back, or to get eaten by some beast. That’d teach him not to treat the likes of Percival like cuddly things he could befriend. Then again, it’d make Queenie sad if Newt died, and Percival was certain his entire staff would refuse to speak to him for a long while if he didn’t go out to bring their favourite human back.

So he put on his coat, with a lot of growling and grumbling, and set off into the night. Behind him light streamed out through the front door of the castle, his servants shilouetted against it.

“Be careful!” Credence called and Percival half turned around to wave.

“I’ll be back in no time!” After all, how bad could it be? The stupid man was probably lost somewhere in the maze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always any and all feedback is very greatly appreciated ♥


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the huge delay in updating this story. I'm struggling with writer's block and my own perfectionism, which has me deleting things left and right because they don't come out like I want them to. 
> 
> But here is a new chapter and I really, really hope you enjoy it. As always, kudos, comment make my little black heart beat faster, and feedback is hugely appreciated! 
> 
> ♥

* * *

Newt wasn’t lost in the maze. That would’ve probably been too _normal_ a thing to do for him, so instead he’d gotten himself circled by werewolves at the forest’s edge.

Percival growled under his breath as he stalked over to them. He wasn’t on great terms with the werewolf pack, not after their leader had shown up at the castle a few days before the full moon and invited Percival to ‘run with them’. The man’s smile had been razor sharp, teeth like jagged rocks, and he’d looked around the castle with an air of arrogance.

_“You don’t have to live like this, locked away and gathering dust. Join us and you’ll be free.”_

Needless to say that Percival had disagreed with the man on all accounts. The only thing they had in common was that they were cursed creatures. Quite possibly he’d made his stance clear a little too violently, what with the screaming and dragging the man from the castle grounds by the back of his neck, like he was an errant puppy.

Percival almost wished he’d been a little friendlier back then, to buy himself some leeway now.

The air was thick with the scent of wolf and Percival wrinkled his nose, thinking uncharitably that there was the unmistakeable note of ‘wet dog’ mixed in with the smell.

“So you see, there is absolutely no reason for us not to get along.”

Percival tried not to roll his eyes. Of course Newt would try to reason with them; the man truly had no sense of self-preservation at all. His statement drew forth snarls from the werewolves, threatening and mocking all at once.

“Leave him alone!” Percival’s voice came out as a great roar, startling the beasts that had been about to attack. Their heads swivelled around to look at him, glowing yellow orbs in the dark, and after a heartbeat their lips pulled back, long sharp teeth shining in the moonlight. The moment of surprise had been enough for Percival to rush over and put himself between Newt and the pack, a snarl of his own rumbling in his chest. It didn’t deter the werewolves, and they descended on him with glee.

Percival was taller and broader than them, but they outnumbered him and, more importantly, didn’t have a problem with their conscious. A grunt pressed past Percival’s lips when a pair of razor-sharp teeth sunk into his arm and sent sparks of pain through his flesh. Mangy little pricks! But, Percival figured better him than Newt, who still had everything to lose while Percival was already a damned abomination.

Percival delivered a punch to the werewolves’ belly and cast him aside. There was no time to catch his breath as the others set out to finish what the first one had started. Their attacks were dizzying, and Percival felt like he was caught in a storm, snarls and flashes of fur surrounding him like thunder and lightning. Pinprick pains of teeth breaking his skin flared into something sharper, the pain building along with the roar in his chest. He fought to shake his attackers off, using his claws but refusing to use his teeth; he still had a shred of dignity left, after all.

A sharp pain in his left leg had Percival’s breath stuttering in his chest. It felt like a piece of flesh was going to rip free if he moved, and an unbidden image of his leg with a chunk missing, bones shining through, flashed through Percival’s mind and made his stomach roil. He could feel his strength fading, his advantage in height and bulk useless in the face of being so hopelessly outnumbered.

Blood rushed in his ears, and over the sound of it Percival couldn’t tell if the sudden whine cutting through the night was his own or not. He lashed out blindly, his claws catching on fur and tearing skin. The whine turned shrill and all of a sudden the pressure on Percival’s leg disappeared. The cold air stung against the open wound. Percival managed to throw another werewolf off, before his legs gave out beneath him and his knees collided painfully with the ground. In his peripheral vision he caught a flash of blue, but his words of protest got stuck in his throat. A second howl of pain followed the first, and when Percival got his eyes to focus he saw something glimmer in Newt’s hand.

Silver.

Of course. Percival coughed a wet laugh, his paw coming up to his chest where a wet spot was spreading on his shirt. Or whatever parts of his shirt hadn’t been shredded by the mangy pack. It had been one of his good shirts as well, which made things worse; Percival didn’t have too many good clothes left. And why was he worrying about a shirt anyway, when he should worry about surviving and protecting the silly human, who had started to nest in his palace without invitation?

The world blurred a little in front of Percival’s eyes. He needed a moment, only a moment, then he was going to get up. Just a moment to catch his breath.

“Now, it’d be really helpful if you could get up. Come along, I’m sure they’ll return soon.”

His arm was being lifted and when Percival raised his gaze he realised that the pounding in his ears hadn’t been his heartbeat, but the hooves of a horse pounding the ground. The white stallion Newt had arrived on stood before them, scraping his legs impatiently while Newt tried to tug Percival to his feet. As if such a scrawny man could ever lift someone like Percival; and as if Percival would ever let himself be treated like a fainting maiden. He was battered and bruised, but he could stand on his own well enough.

When he pushed to his feet his left leg shook, the dull throbbing flaring into sharp pain. Around him the world was a little unsteady and Percival gritted his teeth. He’d had worse.

“Dougal can take you. Up you go.”

Percival cast an incredulous look at Newt, but the stallion whined like he was impatient, and the howls picking up again behind them made Newt shiver. It had been a while since he’d been on a horse and what had once been second nature to him now felt awkward as he swung up onto the stallion’s back. Newt easily jumped up behind him and without having to issue a command, Dougal started to gallop, carrying them back to the castle. The bouncing motions did nothing to ease Percival’s aching body and he tilted forward. Closing his eyes turned out to be a mistake and he quickly opened them again, fixing his gaze on the castle’s lights in the distance.

Newt was a warm weight against his back, and at least the man had had the presence of mind to reach around Percival and grab the reigns. He seemed to have no qualms about being close to Percival, but then again he’d also battled a pack of werewolves. Compared to those rotten creatures Percival was probably preferable.

The lights of the castle grew brighter the closer they got, and some of the tension eased from Percival’s shoulders. They were save and Newt appeared unharmed. Taking that into account, maybe Queenie and Seraphina were only going to yell at him a little.

***

The water in the bowl had taken on a pinkish colour, which darkened every time Newt wrung out the cloth. He’d absolutely refused to leave Percival alone, no matter how often Percival growled that he was fine, he just needed to lie down for a little bit. Percival had ended up being escorted to his room by Newt and half his servants, like he was some wayward schoolboy who’d stayed out past bedtime.

To Percival’s utter indignation, Newt had taken it upon himself to divert Percival of his jacket and shirt and pushed him down on the bed. Thankfully the bite on his leg was below his breeches, or Percival had no doubt that the man would’ve stripped him of them as well, without so much as asking if Percival _wanted_ to be stripped. Which he didn’t. Not that anyone seemed to care.

“It was lucky you had that ring on you, honey!” A steady flow of steam puffed from Queenie’s spout and she hopped up and down the tea trolley, watching Newt clean the wounds. Credence, on the other hand, stood completely still next to her, managing to look like he was curling in on himself even in cup-form. Seraphina and Tina watched the proceedings from the nightstand, comically similar in the way they glared at Percival. Jacob stood on the tea trolley and attempted to lighten the mood, which Percival didn’t appreciate right now. He didn’t want the mood lightened ,and he didn’t want anyone hovering. All he wanted was to be left alone to lick his wounds in solitude.

And besides, Newt probably thought himself an excellent nurse, when he was anything but.

“That hurt!” He barked, moving away from Newt’s prodding hands on his leg.

“I have to check how deep the wounds are. You might need stitches.”

“I don’t need stitches.” What did that man think? That Percival was going to let him _sew him up?_ When he had no qualifications to do so?

“You might do, or it’ll get infected and never heal, and then you’re going to lose your leg. Is that what you want?” Newt sounded annoyingly like Agatha, one of the nannies who’d taken care of Percival after his mother had died.

“It won’t get infected.” He huffed.

“It might.” Newt took hold of Percival’s ankle and held his leg still, continuing to clean the bite with the cloth.

“Well, it’ll be your fault then! If you hadn’t gone out to make friends with werewolves I wouldn’t be losing my leg.”

“I wasn’t trying to make friends with werewolves. That’s a rather ridiculous idea.”

Percival rolled his eyes. Attempting to study a creature like him was perfectly normal, but befriending a bunch of werewolves was ridiculous. Newt had a very weird perception of the world.

“Besides, you’re not going to lose your leg.”

“You said I will.”

“I said you _might._ But if we keep the bite clean there’s no reason that it should come to that.”

Newt was so damn calm all the time. It grated on Percival’s nerves and he turned his head to the side, stubbornly staring at the wall. At least the ointment was wonderfully cooling against the heated flesh of the wounds, Percival had to admit that much.

“Thank you for saving me.”

Percival huffed. “You wouldn’t be a good addition to that pack.” Newt was annoying as it was, and so was that pack. Percival didn’t want to imagine their combined powers of annoyingness.

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t make a very good werewolf.” Newt wrapped a bandage around Percival’s leg, making him hiss. At this rate he was going to lose his leg because Newt was pulling the bandage far too tight.

“At least then you could study yourself, instead of following me around,” Percival muttered.

“Yes, well, about that. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. It’s just…you’re very fascinating.” Newt pushed a wayward strand of hair away from his forehead and rubbed the back of his neck, gaze cast down. Percival only felt a smidgen bad about being responsible for the dejected look on Newt’s face.

“It’s fine,” he said, voice rumbling in his chest. “Though I ask you not to do it anymore. It makes me feel like a circus attraction.”

“My apologies, that was never my intention. It’s just…you’re rather magnificent, you know?”

Percival’s brain was suddenly devoid of words, or the capability to form sentences, as he stared at Newt. He was _what?_

“I’m _what?_ ”

Newt had the gall to smile, like Percival had said something incredibly funny. It made the corners of his eyes tighten and fine wrinkles appeared around them. With a jolt Percival thought that Newt probably smiled a lot.

“You’re really quite magnificent,” he repeated, as if Percival had merely asked for clarification because he hadn’t understood him acoustically. In the background, Percival could hear something that sounded suspiciously like Queenie’s giggle. For once in his life Percival was glad for the fur covering every inch of his skin, and thus hiding any blush that might’ve coloured it.

“I’m…I…I’m most certainly not,” he said, still too stunned to come up with a better reply. Newt’s smile widened and Percival looked away, swallowing against the knot suddenly lodged in his throat.

“I think the most we can agree on is that we disagree,” Newt said as he stood up and gathered the bowl. “Try and get some rest. Goodnight, Sebastian.”

“Goodnight,” Percival said before his brain caught up with him and he narrowed his gaze at Newt. “What?”

“Oh.” It might’ve been the flickering light of the torches on the wall, but Percival thought he saw colour rising in Newt’s cheeks. “You never told me your name, so I called you Sebastian in my mind.”

Percival blinked. “Sebastian? Do I look like a Sebastian to you?” For some unfathomable reason, Percival felt insulted. Sebastian! It sounded like the name of a pony.

“I don’t know, what does a Sebastian look like?” Newt tilted his head to the side, his gaze on Percival like he expected an explanation from _him_.

“You’re the one who named me Sebastian, so you ought to tell me!”

“Oh. Uhm.” It was definitely a blush that turned Newt’s cheeks rosy this time. “See, it was more…I couldn’t very well keep calling you ‘the Beast’. It sounds rather unpleasant. I think. So…I wondered about turning it into a name, but ‘Beastie’ wasn’t much better and somehow that turned into Sebastian.”

Seconds ticked by as Percival stared at Newt. As if he’d needed any further prove of the man’s strangeness. “Might as well have called me Sebeastian then,” he huffed, noting with satisfaction that Newt shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot.

“That doesn’t sound like a very nice name.”

“And Sebastian is a name for a wuss,” Percival muttered. “Then again, considering your name is ‘Newt’, I’m not surprised at your lacking naming capabilities.”

Newt puffed up at that, his shoulders pulling back as his lips pursed.

“My name is Percival,” Percival said and Newt deflated, his indignant expression making way for a small smile.

“Like one of K-“

“King Arthur’s knights, yes. My mother was rather fond of those tales.” He still considered himself lucky that he hadn’t ended up christened ‘Lancelot’.

“It suits you,” Newt said and this time Percival didn’t hold back and rolled his eyes.

“It’s my name, of course it does. Better than ‘Sebastian’ anyway.”

Newt laughed and the sound took Percival by surprise, his heart missing a beat. People (or, in this case, crockery and household items) didn’t laugh a lot in Percival’s company anymore.

“Goodnight, Percival.”

***

Percival’s dreams were restless and confusing that night, filled with howls and Newt’s smile. There was something off about it though, and when his lips parted he displayed a set of sharp fangs. His eyes flashed, yellow overtaking their blue, like the sun eclipsing the sky. When he reached out a hand Percival caught a flash of curled claws, before they dug painfully into the inside of his lower arm, Newt’s grip like a vice.

Percival’s body twitched as he startled awake, his breath coming out as a gasp. It took several blinks for the grittiness of sleep to leave his eyes and Percival stared up at the canopy of his bed as he waited for his spiralling thoughts to settle and his heartbeat to normalise. The canopy was made of heavy blue velvet, silver stars and sparkling diamonds sewn onto it. He’d had it for as long as he could remember, and looking at it had always brought Percival comfort, the memory of his mother whispering in his ear. She’d often sat with him at night when he was a child, telling him that with a canopy like that he’d sleep safely beneath the watchful stars.

His peaceful view of the artificial firmament was ruined when Jacob’s face loomed into view above him, the angle making the candelabra’s chin seem disproportionately large.

“Good morning!”

Percival’s replying growl was not enough to deter Jacob’s cheerful mood, his smile growing impossibly wider. “Did you sleep well?”

The wounds on his body pulled and stung as Percival sat up, giving another grunt instead of a verbal reply.

“Have some tea, honey.” Queenie tipped to the side and the strong aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the room as she poured Percival a cup.

His mouth felt dry and his brain sluggish, so Percival reached for Credence with a grateful noise and took a gulp. His lips were still against the rim of the cup when his gaze settled on Seraphina, lazily drifting down to perch at the foot of the bed. She looked unbearably smug; Percival had no trouble imagining what she would’ve looked like before, her dark eyes shining with glee as they met his, her lips quirking in a way that left him tense with anticipation, because more often than not her amusement came at Percival’s expense.

“Good morning…Sebastian.”

Percival narrowed his eyes. If it hadn’t been Credence he cradled in his hands but any ordinary cup, he would’ve thrown it at her. Impulse control had never been his strong suit.

Instead, he schooled his features into a pleasant smile and silently thanked Seraphina’s mother once again. That woman had been a force of nature, but also a source of valuable information, which she had given freely after a few glasses of red wine.

“Good morning, Mildred.”

In an instant the smug look was gone and Seraphina’s feathery tail puffed up. Credence clattered against the saucer as he turned around, looking at Seraphina before peering up at Percival.

Smile still firmly in place, Percival gently tapped a claw against Credence’s handle. “Your middle name really is beautiful, I think you should go by it more often.”

“I’m named after my grandmother, whereas your name derives from Sebeastian.” Seraphina spread her wings and beat them twice, floating to the pillow next to Percival. “How are you this morning?” Her voice was bordering on bored, but her beady eyes were watching him carefully, registering even the slightest twitch of muscle.

“Sore.” Percival took another sip of tea, not willing to admit that his leg throbbed like a son of a bitch. Not with both, Queenie and Seraphina, in the room. A double lecture from them was only trumped by a triple lecture including Tina. Percival had sat through that once, after he’d thought drinking himself into a stupor for a week was the solution to his miserable existence, and it had been hell on earth. No, actually it had made hell look like a very desirable place for a vacation. The only thing worse than a triple lecture was Credence being sad, and they all worked very hard to keep that from happening.

“We brought you breakfast. I’m sure you’ll feel better after a good meal,” Jacob said, pointing to a covered tray with a flourish. Although Percival barely felt hungry, he sat up a little more and pulled the tray into his lap. The nagging wasn’t worth it, he’d rather choke down a few forkfuls of food.

“I’m glad you and Newt are on better terms,” Queenie said, just as Percival shovelled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. He struggled to swallow. “I always knew the two of you would become friends,” she continued, skilfully ignoring his glare.

“We’re not _friends_ ,” he said, his mouth still sticky with oatmeal.

“Oh, maybe not yet, but you’re going to be.” Queenie had a way of saying things like she _knew_ they were going to happen. Most of the time they did, and Percival had always secretly thought it a little creepy.

“I think you should be,” Credence said and the words of protest died on Percival’s lips. Credence so rarely voiced his opinion, much less got involved in arguments, that when he did his words seemed to hold a weight that couldn’t –shouldn’t– be ignored.

“Are you taking his side now as well?” Percival asked, fighting to keep his voice neutral. Credence’s painted eyebrows drew together in a frown as he stared up at Percival. Before, when things had been as they should be, they had been of the same height, Credence maybe even a smidgen taller than Percival. He imagined Credence before him, the corners of his eyes tight from his frown. He’d be shaking his head a little, like he couldn’t believe Percival would say such a thing.

“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Credence said. “Things might just be nicer if you two were friends. Mister Newt is rather friendly, you know? And you’re only half as grumpy as you pretend to be.”

“Credence is right,” Queenie agreed and flashed Percival a brilliant smile.

“Besides, Newt brought you back here and looked after you. You could show a little gratitude,” she added and Percival rolled his eyes.

“ _I_ saved him from a pack of mangy wolves.”

“See! That means you like him, or you wouldn’t have cared.”

It was too early to be arguing with Queenie, so Percival let it go and took another sip of tea. Before he could formulate any kind of comeback, there was a knock on the door. It cracked open a sliver and Newt peered into the room. When his gaze settled on Percival, he smiled and stepped inside.

“You’re awake.” He said it like it was something to be excessively pleased about, not something Percival accomplished every day.

“Yes.” Percival tugged the blanket up a little higher over his chest. It was silly to feel self-conscious; for one, Newt had tended to his wounds yesterday, for another, he was covered in fur, not a sliver of skin in sight. And yet, in the morning sunlight, Percival felt exposed.

“Good morning,” Newt smiled as he took in the castle’s staff gathered around Percival’s bed. “I brought you some tea.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and took Credence from Percival’s hands, replacing him with a generic cup full of a murky, rather foul-smelling liquid. Percival nearly made a grab for Credence, but curled his claws around the cup instead. He disliked not having the boy close, and he disliked having him in the hands of a stranger even more. Though, all things considered, Newt wasn’t really a stranger, and as Percival watched the man set Credence down on the blankets with care. A green twig crawled out of the pocket of Newt’s shirt and used the man’s arm as a slide, landing softly on the bed next to Credence.

“Hello, Pickett.”

The twig waved and started to chitter excitedly, folding in to sit next to Credence.

When Percival raised his gaze back up, he found Newt looking at him.

“Pickett is rather fond of Credence since he acted as a bathtub for him.”

Percival made a vague noise, not quite sure what to think of this, or how to react to it, and took a sip of tea for lack of anything better to do. It tasted even worse than it smelt, and Percival struggled not to retch as he swallowed. His mouth felt fuzzy with the aftertaste.

“Are you trying to poison me?”

Newt’s eyes widened and colour rose in his cheeks, clashing horrible with his hair’s copper shade.

“No, no of course not!” He said, raising his hands and then dropping them again, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt instead. “I wouldn’t try to poison you” His earnestness almost made Percival feel bad, and he took another sip of tea toshow that he hadn’t actually suspected the man of capable of murder.

“It doesn’t taste too great, but willow bark is anti-inflammatory and diminishes pain.”

Percival hummed against the rim of the cup, refraining from asking if putting some lemon in the tea to improve the taste hadn’t crossed Newt’s mind. He didn’t want to bring the dejected look back to Newt’s face, which made him feel even more unsettled. There was no reason he should care about Newt looking like a sad kitten; he was a grown man, and should be able to cope.

“How’s your leg feeling?” Newt said and almost made Percival spill the tea all over his chest when he lifted the blanket to peer at Percival’s legs. The man lacked not only self-preservation instincts, cut also a concept of personal space. Percival stoically kept his gaze on the ugly flower tapestry on the opposite wall he only kept around because his grandmother had loved it, while Newt poked and prodded at his leg, ‘hmmmm’ing as if he knew what he was doing. Percival suppressed his wince as best as he could when another sharp nib of pain ran through his body. His gaze met Queenie’s, and Percival pulled his lips back in a silent snare. It was entirely futile and only served to make Queenie’s smile bloom into a grin.

“It’s not looking too pretty right now, but it should heal alright. You’ll have to rest it for a few days.”

Percival nodded and gulped down the rest of the vile tea with a shudder. Next to him, Queenie cleared her throat and shot him a pointed look when he frowned at her. His servants were far too nosy, and treated him like he knew nothing about common courtesy.

“Thank you. For. You know.” Percival waved his hand. That’d get his point across. When he glanced over, Newt was smiling. It was an odd thing, but Percival couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to Newt’s teeth, which were even and white and _not jagged_. So very human and nothing like in his dream. His tongue ran across the fangs in his own mouth and he turned the cup around in his hands restlessly.

“I’ll go and pick some supplies for an ointment that’ll help your wounds heal quicker.”

Percival’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to the forest for that?” He could feel his blood-pressure rising. Had Newt learnt nothing?

“I should be able to find most things in your garden. The forest’s edge at the most,” Newt replied, shifting a little under the weight of Percival’s stare. “It’s not even noon yet, and I won’t go deep into the forest, I promise. No need to worry at all this time.”

Percival snorted. “I won’t come to your rescue this time, and I won’t feel sorry if you get eaten,” he declared, ignoring Queenie gasp of ‘Percy!” and Jacob shaking his head with a ‘tsk tsk’.

“Fair enough,” Newt said easily. “I promise nothing will happen this time. Don’t worry. You just…stay here and relax.” When he held out his hand, Pickett patted Credence’s handle before he jumped on and climbed Newt’s arm, settling on his shoulder. Newt gathered the empty mug from Percival’s hands, not flinching when his fingertips brushed Percival’s claws.

Something itched beneath Percival’s skin as he watched Newt leave, making him restless. Maybe he was bitter and maybe he was judgemental, when Newt had never given him reason to be so. If anything he’d been unfailingly polite in the face of Percival’s bullshit.

“Wait!”

Newt turned around, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Your…your notebook,” Percival said, gesturing towards the table by the window. The way Newt’s face lit up as he strode over and picked up the book made Percival feel sick and ashamed about having taken it in the first place.

“Thank you.”

Percival had to look away, unable to bear Newt’s grateful smile. He acted like Percival had given him a precious gift, when he should hate him for having robbed him off the book.

“Maybe…we can work on the chapter about you together?”

“Maybe,” Percival replied, not wanting to make any promises, but not wanting to be rude to Newt again either. His answer seemed to be enough for Newt, who walked from the room with a spring in his step.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exceptionally sorry for the long wait and the shortness of this chapter. I was on holiday and atop of that I'm battling writer's block something fierce. I think I need to rewatch Beasts and get myself all excited for the fandom again. Or well, if you feel so inclined talk to me about the awesomeness of Newt and Percival and Credence and Tina and Queenie and Jacob and Pickett and the entire movie in the comments ♥

When Newt had said Percival needed to rest his leg, Percival hadn’t thought he meant actual bed rest. While Percival managed to sleep through most of the first day of enforced rest, by the second day he was ready to smash a window and make a run for freedom. Even living with the werewolves in the forest seemed preferable, if it meant he wouldn’t have to hear Jacob asking if he wanted soup one more time.

“What are you doing?”

Or have Newt ask him what he was doing the second he so much as twitched.

“I need to take a piss,” Percival huffed as he carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Wanna come and watch?”

He ignored Queenie’s scandalised “Language!” in favour of feeling satisfied that his words had brought a blush to Newt’s cheeks, the man glaring but not saying a word as Percival hobbled to the bathroom. It hurt like hell, but Percival clenched his teeth, determined not to show any weakness. He relieved himself and washed his paws, before hobbling back out of the bathroom and flopping down on his bed. Newt looked up from the paper he was scribbling on, and huffed out a breath to blow the hair falling into his eyes away.

“Theseus sends his regards.”

“Thanks,” Percival replied as he sat back, propped up against the pillows and trying to get comfortable. After so many hours in bed, no position seemed comfortable anymore. When his brain caught up with what Newt had just said, Percival turned to look at him. “What? Who?”

“My brother, Theseus?” Newt asked and sat up a little straighter. He was using Percival’s bed as a desk, and Percival’s mother would’ve had a thing or two to say about the dreadfully hunched posture he took on when writing. Not that Newt had great posture in general. And not that Percival noticed Newt’s posture or anything, it was just that with being stuck in bed Percival didn’t have too many things to look at, so he…noticed things about Newt. Like the way a deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows when he frowned in concentration, or the fact that one of his eyes was slightly bluer than the other.

“You know, the one you imprisoned?” Newt prompted.

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Percival waved his paw dismissively. He didn’t remember much of the man, except for the fact that he’d been much bulkier than Newt, and much more foul-mouthed.

“He sends his regards,” Newt repeated, speaking slowly, like Percival was hard of understanding. “He’s going to the market in Fairbush in two weeks and said he might drop by for tea, since it’s on the way.”

Percival was vaguely aware of his mouth working, but no sounds coming forth. Newt sounded so nonchalant, not like he was the prisoner of a beast, but like he was on some sort of holiday here.

“He…what?” He finally managed to produce. “How…when did he tell you that?”

“He wrote me a letter,” Newt replied, holding up a piece of paper covered in messy scrawls.

“He wrote you a…how?” Percival couldn’t wrap his mind around it. When had the brothers started to exchange letters? And how had the letter even been delivered? No mail carriage would ever make its way to the castle, Percival was absolutely certain of that.

“Dougal has been carrying letters for us,” Newt said and shrugged, like it was completely normal to use a horse as a courier. “Theseus wanted to come here with people from the village, all mob with pitchforks and whatnot, but I told him he was being overly dramatic again and I’d prefer it if he refrained from doing so. I said he should come for tea instead, that’d be more pleasant.”

Behind Percival, Queenie snorted. He was thankful that Seraphina wasn’t here, or he’d never live down he fact that he sat there for what felt like minutes, and stared at Newt with his mouth hanging open. For his part, Newt looked between Percival and Queenie, his forehead creased as if he couldn’t understand their reactions at all.

“We can take our tea outside, if you want? So you won’t be disturbed?”

“Disturbed in his brooding, you mean?” Queenie giggled and Percival snapped his mouth shut.

“I don’t care where you take your tea,” he huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Take it in the grand ballroom, for all I care.”

“That’s a wonderful idea! I’ll see that it’s cleaned up.”

Percival turned his head so quickly it felt like he’d strained something in his neck. Queenie couldn’t possibly be serious, could she? From the looks of it, she was dead serious, and Percival felt the urge to bash his head against the wall. What had he done to deserve this? Wasn’t it enough that he had to spend his days as a hideous beast? Why did he have to deal with bossy servants and a ridiculous man who refused to acknowledge personal boundaries atop of that?

“Really? That does sound lovely,” Newt said and sat up straighter. “It would show Theseus what a wonderful place this is.”

Percival’s eyebrows rose as he looked between Queenie and Newt. Had he landed in an alternative universe? Nobody, absolutely nobody, ever referred to the cursed castle as “a wonderful place”, not even Percival himself - and he’d grown up here. Maybe he needed to lock Newt up in a cell again to remind him what a not-wonderful place this was, and that he was still, technically, a prisoner. But then again, his servants would free Newt again instantly, so the entire thing would be an exercise in futility, and an unnecessary strain on Percival’s already frayed nerves.

“Oh, Percival, you can wear your blue suit. You’ll look very fetching.”

_Fetching?_ By that point Percival felt like his eyebrows were about to disappear completely. He was a _beast_. Beasts didn’t look fetching, and Queenie was getting far too excited for her own good, steam puffing from her spout whenever she giggled.

“I’m not going to attend.”

“What? Of course you will! You’re the master of the castle! It would be terribly rude not to. Besides, I bet Newt’s brother would love to meet you-“

“He’s already met me.”

“-under better circumstances,” Queenie finished and pursed her lips. It meant that she was displeased with Percival’s attitude, and Queenie being displeased never boded well for him.

“I’m sure Theseus would like to meet you. Just so he knows that I’m in good hands and that he doesn’t need to worry. He tends to worry. About me. Even though I keep telling him that worrying is pointless.”

Percival suddenly felt a wave of sympathy for Newt’s brother. Trying to look after Newt must be as frustrating as trying to look after a bag of fleas.

“Maybe if my leg is healed enough by then,” Percival replied and stoically ignored Queenie’s quirked eyebrows. He might as well use his injury as an excuse, if it kept him invalid and bed-bound.

“Why, yes, of course. You shouldn’t overexert yourself!” Newt said, his face instantly creased with worry. “How’re you feeling?”

_The same as I felt ten minutes ago!_

Percival bit his tongue and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, thank you. Go finish your letter, I need to …rest.” He turned onto his side and pulled the blanket over himself before pointedly closing his eyes. At least nobody asked him questions or involved him in planning tea parties if he pretended to be asleep.

***

“Were you always like this?”

“What do you mean, honey?”

“A teapot, I mean. Or a clock, or a cup, or a duster. Were you all always like this?”

“Oh.”

Percival’s breath caught in his throat, though thankfully neither Queenie nor Newt realised that he was awake.

“That’s a very long story, sweetie.”

“I’ve got time.” Newt’s wry smile was evident in his voice. Percival could picture it perfectly, the way one corner of his mouth twitched up a little higher than the other.

“It’s also not my story to tell.”

Percival could feel both their gazes on him and struggled not to shift under their weight.

“So…you haven’t always been a teapot?” Newt asked and Percival relaxed a fraction.

“No.” Queenie’s voice swung with emotion, filling the air with a myriad of things unsaid. “I haven’t always been a teapot.”

Once upon a time people had talked far and wide about Queenie, her beauty and tales of her smile travelling far beyond the castle walls. Women had tried to replicate her hairstyles and a throng of suitors and admirers had followed her around at every ball. But Queenie’s beauty couldn’t be captured in a hairstyle, and no matter the offers princes and dukes made her, Queenie had only ever had eyes for a certain baker. Jacob and Queenie had been engaged, planning their wedding and excited to start a family of their own. And then the wizard had come and their plans, along with the rest of the castle, had turned to dust.

Thinking about it ignited the long-familiar flame of anger in Percival’s chest. It wasn’t _right_ , and it was all his fault. His anger was largely on behalf of his staff, because they didn’t deserve to suffer like this. The portion of anger not spared for them, was directed at Percival himself, because it was his fault. He would’ve dealt, had it only concerned him, living out his days as a beast hidden away in a rotting castle. But because of him they were all doomed to this existence, all cursed alongside him. The worst of it was that Percival could undo it all within the blink of an eye, if only he told the wizard what he wanted to know. But he couldn’t –wouldn’t– do that, and he knew that if he did his staff would never forgive him. It’d be a far bigger betrayal of them, so Percival lived with his anger and his guilt.

“I’ll let Jacob know, I’m sure it’ll be no problem at all.”

His inner monologue had made Percival miss a chunk of the conversation, which had apparently moved to safer topics now.

“Only if it’s no trouble. I just think it might be nice for Percival to have a change of scenery.”

“Of course.” There was a clattering sound that was probably Queenie nodding. “He’s been stuck in here long enough. I’m surprised there haven’t been more tantrums.”

Percival cracked his eyes open. “I don’t throw tantrums.”

“Good morning,” Queenie thrilled and turned on her saucer to smile at Percival. “Sleep well?”

Percival sat up with a huff and ran a paw over his face. He’d slept longer than he usually did, but felt more tired for it. And pretending to be asleep while listening to the conversations of others was more exhausting than he’d thought.

“You look like you need a cup of tea,” Queenie observed and poured Percival a cup. He took it gratefully, only to frown at it after taking a sip.

“Where’s Credence?” He was being overly paranoid, but Credence usually stuck close to Percival, making his absence all the more glaring.

Queenie, sensing his unease, smiled reassuringly. “He’s in the gardens with Seraphina, nothing to worry about, honey. They’ll be back soon.”

“Ah.” The tightness in Percival’s chest eased and he took another sip of tea. For all of Seraphina’s aloofness, her soft spot for Credence was so large it could’ve eclipsed the sun. Not that she’d ever admit to such a thing, but back int he day Percival had personally witnessed Seraphina engaging in a glare off with Tina about Credence being allowed a second helping of dessert.

When he looked up over the rim of his mug, Percival caught Newt looking between him and Queenie with a slight frown. He had no doubt about the fact that the man was taking mental notes about their interaction and the things hinted at between the lines. Their eyes met for a few seconds before Newt predictably looked away.

“We were just saying that it might be nice to have dinner in the dining room today.”

“You’ve finally decided to release me from my prison then?” Percival asked. His leg felt much better these days, the pain having lost it’s burning edge and faded into an uncomfortable twinge.

The purse of Newt’s lips instantly made Percival regret his poor wording. Sometimes he wondered if he’d always been this stupid, or if his beastly nature was starting to extend to his brain.

“I never intended to hold you prisoner, merely to ensure your quick recovery,” he replied, looking like he was attempting to set the blankets on fire with his glare.

“I know. I apologise, my words were…uncalled for.” Percival took another sip of tea to wash away the bitter aftertaste of his words. He disliked having to apologise, and Newt caused him to do it more often than he liked. One thing he’d learnt about the man though was that his bad moods, if they could even be called that, disappeared as quickly as they came. Sure enough, when Newt looked up, a smile was back on his face.

“No harm done.”

Percival ignored Queenie’s smug smile as he put the empty cup back on the tea trolley.

“I’ll see about breakfast,” Queenie said and winked at Percival as the trolley started to roll, the doors of the room closing behind it and leaving Newt and Percival in silence. It turned awkward quickly, both of them shifting as if the silence was physically uncomfortable.

“So,” Percival started, trying to find a topic of conversation that didn’t concern his health, or the weather. “In your notebook you also wrote about a colony of…nifflers living near your village?” It was the right thing to say. Newt’s posture straightened and his smile brightened, and he filled the silence easily as he told Percival about his discoveries. He was more animated than Percival had ever seen him before; his gestures were wide and elaborate, and he held eye contact for longer than Percival was used to.

And for the first time since Newt had come to the castle, Percival started to understand that his interest in creatures was genuine. It made a small, treacherous part of his brain wonder if Newt’s interest in him was more than some morbid fascination with an abomination.

***

“I can walk by myself just fine!” Percival was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with his voice, or if everyone around him had simply gone deaf. HIs commands were generally ignored these days and his opinions overruled, like he was a schoolboy who didn’t know any better. It was upsetting and infuriating, and complaining about it didn’t help at all since everyone ignored that too.

And thus Percival was stuck hobbling his way to the dining room with one arm slung around Newt’s shoulder, the man insisting on helping him walk. It was ridiculous all around. For one, Newt wasn’t strong enough to support Percival in any way and wouldn’t be able to hold him if he stumbled, for another _if_ Percival were to stumble and fall he’d crush Newt beneath his weight and then they’d both be injured and unhappy. Not to mention that everyone was going to blame Percival for Newt getting injured, as if this entire spectacle had been his idea.

“You shouldn’t overdo it,” Newt replied, his voice sounding strained despite his best efforts of pretending that Percival wasn’t taller and broader than him by far.

“I’m hardly overdoing it, I’m _fine_. And look, there’re the stairs, I can hold onto the banister,” Percival pointed out, leaning more towards his right side to put a paw on the banister and removing his arm from Newt’s shoulders. The pain in his leg flared up once Percival had taken the first step. He gritted his teeth and slowed down, always stepping down with his good leg first before following with the bad one. It was slow and tedious and made him feel like a man thrice his age. Newt, to his utter annoyance, didn’t go ahead but mimicked Percival’s slow pace like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Take your time.”

Percival grunted. He could already tell that this was going to get old very quickly. Why couldn’t his cursed body at least heal itself quickly?

After what felt like an eternity they reached the bottom of the staircase and Percival gruffly waved Newt away when he tried to grab his arm again. He hobbled the rest of the way to the dining room by himself, head held high despite how ridiculous he probably looked.

“Ah! There you are!” Jacob said and turned around with a flourish, the candles on his arms and head flaring to life along with the ones spread around the table and the torches on the wall. Percival groaned and eyed the elaborate setup with distaste. His staff had gone ridiculously overboard; there was not a speck of dust to be found in the room, every surface gleaming and shining along with candelabras. A giant bouquet of flowers sat in the middle of the table –which explained why Credence and Seraphina had gone to the gardens this morning– and they’d gotten out the good china, the one with the delicate gold trims. It had once belonged to Percival’s grandmother, who’d passed it on to his mother, who’d hoped to one day pass it on to Percival’s wife. Seeing it brought an uncomfortable tightness to Percival’s throat and he forcefully swallowed against it and hobbled to his seat at the head of the table, where he sank down with a groan, glad to take his weight off his leg.

They’d set Newt’s place to Percival’s right rather than on the other of the dining room table. It’d make it easier to talk, but it was also to close for comfort – especially with the change in Percival’s table manners, a necessary adjustment to this body. Next to Newt’s plate sat a saucer full of…cookie crumbs? Percival squinted, but before he could even attempt to work out what was going on, Newt’s bowtruckle jumped down onto the table from the pocket of Newt’s jacket, and started to stuff the crumbs into his mouth.

“Pickett! Where are your manners?”

Pickett, for his part, completely ignored Newt in favour of stuffing another crumb into his mouth despite the fact that his cheeks were already bulging out, making him look like the world’s strangest hamster.

Newt sighed and sat down, putting his napkin down in his lap primly. “Everything looks wonderful, Jacob.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Jacob said, his candles appearing to burn even brighter. “Now, we’ll start tonight off with a pumpkin and ginger soup and toasted bread.” As he spoke the dishes floated into the room as if carried by invisible hands, the bowls of soup landing in front of Percival and Newt without a drop being spilled. A basket full of toasted and buttered bread floated over gently to stand on the table between them.

Percival took a moment to glare at his soup, before he picked up the plate and took a sip. He couldn’t handle a spoon with his claws, but since Newt had been so insistent to have dinner with him, he’d have to deal. When Percival glanced over he was once again thrown for a loop by Newt’s complete lack of reaction. By all accounts, the man acted like having dinner with a great hulking beast drinking soup was something he did regularly.

“The soup is really good, don’t you think?” Newt asked, smiling at Percival.

“Mh,” Percival hummed in reply as he took another gulp.

“My mother used to make pumpkin soup a lot. There was a pumpkin patch right behind our house.” Newt twirled his spoon wistfully between his fingers. As the silence between them stretched Percival became aware that a reply was required of him and he cleared his throat.

“That sounds…nice.”

Newt nodded, staring at his soup like it held the answers to all the universe’s riddles. He looked up abruptly and the words spilled from his lips like he was afraid he’d lose his courage if he didn’t get them out immediately. “They died a few years ago. My parents, I mean. I was ten.”

It was a turn of conversation Percival hadn’t expected and he momentarily looked at Newt over the rim of his plate with wide eyes. The smile was gone and instead Newt sat a little hunched, drawing his spoon through the soup without raising it to eat. The air around them felt heavy with the anticipation of Percival’s reaction, the weight of this being a defining moment pushing down on Percival’s shoulders.

He sat his bowl of soup down carefully and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. “I’m very sorry to hear that. That must’ve been very difficult.”

Newt did a weird thing that was somewhere between a nod and a shrug. “Theseus was only fifteen, but he raised me.”

Percival had no idea why Newt was confiding in him, why Newt trusted him with this kind of information, but he nodded and did his best to look sympathetic. Hearing this made him feel horrible about separating the brothers. He’d have to tell Newt that he could invite Theseus for tea as often as he wanted to.

“My mother died when I was five.” Percival had never really talked about it. The people living at the castle knew about it, and he’d never felt the need to share anything about his private life with strangers. They had no business knowing about it, and Percival had never been one to discuss his feelings. But somehow Newt defied the rules, as he’d done from the moment he’d set foot in the castle.

As if to make that point even clearer Newt reached out and took Percival’s paw in his hand. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

“It was a long time ago.” Percival’s voice sounded far away and foreign to his own ears as he looked down at the contrast of their hands. His hand dwarfed Newt’s, the man’s fingers long and pale, looking almost white next to Percival’s dark fur. His nails were short and blunt where Percival’s claws were long and sharp, not that Newt took any notice of that fact, squeezing Percival’s claw lightly. His skin was warm and smooth and Percival wondered if his own hands had ever felt like that.

“Still.”

Newt keeps holding his hand until Jacob returns to announce the next course, and Percival finds that his hands feels inexplicably empty when they pull apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be even more hand(paw) holding? Will Theseus and Percival survive the tea without throwing cups at each other? Find out in the next chapter *cue dramatic music*

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist /o\ As always, your thoughts and feedback are very much appreciated ♥


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